Two Nights
by theCalliope
Summary: Two important nights for Spock and Uhura.
1. Chapter 1

_Two scenes from a fic that never quite happened. This first one takes place the night Vulcan was destroyed. _

_*******************************************************************************************************_

That first night, the thoughts had been unbearable. They had stabbed like daggers and screamed like banshees. But most of all, they had clamoured. They had scurried.

Spock put his head into his hands and clenched his teeth together. He couldn't make them stop. He couldn't drown them out. He couldn't even understand them. It was all too incomprehensible. It was all too jumbled in his mind.

It wasn't just his mother—he could take that, he had seen that with his own eyes. It was his old neighbour, the high school bully he'd always secretly hoped to wreak vengeance on, the librarian that had saved new books for him. Everything and everybody he had ever known. It was all gone.

Spock couldn't meditate. Normally, he could do it anywhere, but now even in the right position, in the right conditions, he couldn't reduce the intensity of his thoughts. He fidgeted and clutched his IDIC hard. He reached out and touched the wall. He hit it.

"Hello," a voice rang out of the ashes. He recognized it as Uhura's, but he didn't look up. He felt her sit next to him, and her hand touch his shoulder.

"I just wanted to make sure that you're okay," she said softly.

"I'm not," he spat, more harshly than he intended.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down in embarrassment, "That was a stupid thing to say. What I meant was if you want to talk ... or anything ..."

Her eyes were wide with pity. She looked close to tears herself.

Spock brushed her cheek with his hand, and she kissed him. He thought he felt her hot tears slide down his face. He lacked the will to resist. She was dulling his pain. It was a few minutes before he took her clothes off.

Even then, he was strange. It never occurred to him to do anything but hang her clothes in the hall closet. She stared at him with a bizarre, startled expression as he put her dress on a hanger and then neatly folded her underwear and put in on a shelf. He then methodically undressed himself, putting away each garment properly as he removed it.

He sat back down and began to kiss her and caress her naked body. The room seemed surreal as if the air were solid. On one side was his grief and his rage. So much rage. He was already so lost and alone. Why had this happened to him? To everyone?

His desire, hot and shameful yet comforting huddled in a corner.

Soon, he was slamming his rage into her, ramming his grief into her open body.

Thrust. She gasps like her crewmates at the sight of the planet collapsing in on itself. He stands watching calmly, not even flinching.

Thrust. Her flesh is warm and soft like Kirk's as he hit at his face and squeezed at his throat. Being stripped of his last shred of dignity, his command, his clothes.

Thrust. Nyota's scream and the scream of his mother as the pit enveloped her. Her nails ripping through his flesh like his mother's ripped through dirt as she struggled to save herself.

Thrust. The sweat on Nyota's face like the sweat on billions of unknown faces seconds before they burned.

Thrust. The fleeting feeling that he hadn't lost enough. That it had never truly been his world. That they had always alienated and disliked and despised him. The fleeting burst of pleasure. The shadow of sorrow and shame.

Her breathing slowed and he rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time, he slept.

At 300 hours, he awoke to the sound of Nyota rifling.

"I should get back to my quarters," she said as he looked up at her.

" Please ... do not leave," he whispered desperately.

She looked sad again, and slipped back next to him. He held her, and in a dissonant moment, the room seemed to shatter, and he was clutching her, sobbing. Compared to his loss, she seemed so small.

In the morning, she was gone, and Spock was glad. Wrench with pain and guilt and shame, he wasn't sure he could look her in the eye.

But it was okay, he could meditate. He sat down, cleared he mind, and floated slowly into the abyss, hoping the somewhere in it, he could find meaning.


	2. Chapter 2

After that first night, twin fears emerged in Spock's mind.

The first was that she would hate him for it.

After meditating, he had gone to fold up the blanket they had used, trying to expunge what had happened from his mind, trying to restore order to his life. On the sofa, he had seen something that disturbed him.

Blood.

He had quickly turned the cushion over and shoved it back. He had felt the sudden urge to vomit. Then he was afraid. That he had defiled her. That he had taken advantage of her. That somewhere, she was crying, degraded, covered in filth.

Then, he was afraid that she wasn't. What if she had liked it? What if she hadn't resisted because she'd wanted? Spock pictured her painted, gaudy, laughing and egging him on. What if he had created a monster? His second fear was that she would love him for it.

But when he saw her, his fears were assuaged.

She said nothing.

No questions, no accusations, no taunts.

No attempts to go outside of their previously established boundaries.

And for awhile, Spock struggled. He felt a tug of guilt every time he saw her. He wondered if she was questioning his motives every time he kissed her. But as time went on, the incident faded into the back of his mind and he stopped thinking these things. The thought was a vacuum, containing nothing, never mentioned.

*****

Spock was exhausted. He had worked a double shift emptying a damaged cargo bay. When he got back to his quarters, he did something he rarely did. He lay down on his sofa and rested.

Nyota was surprised to see him there when she walked in.

"Eighteen hours of straight lifting," he defended himself.

She smiled. Pausing for a minute, she lay down on top of him. This was against the rules, but Spock didn't feel inclined to stand up. He held her. It was so soothing to have her hands running down his sore muscles. He pulled her in to kiss her harder.

She became more aggressive and began to touch him all over. He felt a warm glow fill his body. He had to look at her. He pulled her head back and stared into her eyes for a minute before kissing her back ravenously.

She pulled away and moved down his body. This didn't bother him. He could still feel her hands caressing him. Of course she needed to devote her full attention to his body. Of course she needed—

Spock felt a wide streak of pleasure flash through his body and opened his eyes. He stood up in shock. She had opened his pants and was ...

"I do not engage in pleasures of the flesh," he yelled at Nyota who was still stunned and still sitting on the couch. She looked unhappy.

"Spock ..." she whispered.

"Nyota," he said back severely.

She started crying, not loudly, but a few tears ran down her cheeks.

"I just want us to be normal," she whispered.

Normal for who, he wondered. Humand or Vulcans?

"It is out of the question," he snapped back.

"But we did it once ..." she articulated shakily, "I thought that ..."

Suddenly, she seemed to gain some nerve.

"Why is it okay when you want to, but not when I want to?" she demanded.

"That was a mistake," Spock spat.

She looked at him in disbelief.

"I let you use me," she insisted, "I let you do whatever you wanted without question."

She was really crying now. Tears were streaming down her face.

"Don't you want me?" she screamed, "Aren't I more important to you than some stupid Vulcan ..."

"I want you," he replied hoarsely, "I want you." The second time he said this, he gained strength.

Suddenly, he felt enraged. He shook slightly, trying to avoid lashing out at the air.

"Do you think I am like this because I enjoy it," he whispered, "Do you think I enjoy denying myself everything I ever ..."

"I think," she screamed, "You enjoy it a little bit."

Spock lowered himself to the ground, leaning his back against the wall.

"I am ashamed of so much," he murmured, "I do not believe I could live with the shame."

"And yet you're still alive!" her voice rang out, enunciating every word clearly.

She sat down across from him and looked at him.

How had she known how close he was to the edge?

He thought she was going to talk to him, but instead, she started touching him.

Unrelentingly.

He pictured himself pushing her away, standing up and storming away in anger. But he sat there. Was it too late? There was so much pleasure and desire and want.

He opened his eyes. Oh damn, how could he be doing this, he could see her stroking his ...

"Lights," he stammered, shaking, and they were covered in darkness.

"Please," he whispered, " I find this very embarrassing."


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm continuing this story because I've had a lot of requests to. There will probably be two more parts after this._

* * *

"Please ..." Spock whispered, as she leaned forward and kissed him, her hand still stroking between his legs. It was a deep kiss, and Spock found himself kissing back harshly. He struggled not to cry out as she bore her weight on him, sending him tumbling on his back.

He hated how she looked right then, her overlong hair trailing down her bare back, the expression of glee on her face, her full breasts dangling dangerously over his body. He flinched as she made a provocative face and leaned over him. This wasn't the girl he wanted her to be.

Spock felt a surge of desire as she ran her hands across his naked body. He wanted to escape, but she was too close, too hot, too enticing. Her breasts swayed, and he thought of a video that he had seen at school. The one that was meant to show the class how degenerate human culture was. How it demeaned women. The one that had so secretly and so shamefully turned him on.

He reached up and touched her, and as he did he felt weak. Powerless. There was his mind and there was his body, and he knew his body was winning. He wondered if this was what Pon Farr felt like, having the threat of logic in his mind, but not being able to make it do his bidding.

She leaned over and began to kiss him heavily, and began to nip his cheecks and his shoulders. He growled slightly, and pulled her closer. Suddenly, he couldn't tell if he was afraid of shaming her or not having her. Whether he was anxious about breaking his moral code or her breaking her word. If he was ashamed of the situation or having never been in it before.

"Please what?" she asked with a seductive smile on her face.

He didn't know.

He needed more, that much was certain. And he needed it quickly. He pulled her down on top of him, so he could feel her body against his. He kissed her ravenously. He began to hiss as he rubbed against her, looking for entrance. He felt a burst of anger as she pulled herself teasingly away.

He thought of throwing Kirk across the bridge as he threw her on her back in frustration. She looked shocked as he spread her legs and positioned himself on top of her. He could see her fear, her inexperience, her uncertainty etched on her face. He licked his lips in anticipation. This was how he liked her. Spock slammed himself into her before she could protest.

He thrust wildly, and he heard a gasp beneath him. His eyes didn't open. He felt possessed.

Ravenous, raging and unleashed, he was beyond caring what she thought of him. Beyond caring if he was hurting her. Beyond anything.

He felt her arms creep up along his back, and he grabbed them, irritated. Didn't she know she was at his mercy? He pinned them abover her head.

She started to pant and then scream, then convulse. Spock growled as he emptied himself. But he knew it wasn't over. He still felt crazed. He still needed her.

As he picked her up, she gazed at him blearily. He liked how her hair hung down as he held her. He kissed her.

As he carried her to the bed, he felt his desire mounting. He bent her over it gently and took her standing. The second time was a lot quicker, soon she was hissing and moaning and he was roaring.

The third time, she stayed limp and didn't make any noise at all.

Afterwards, she turned towards him. She seemed to realize that he had come back to his senses. She touched his face.

"That was a little much wasn't it," she whispered gently, in exhaustion.

Suddenly, Spock felt ashamed. Had it really been him that had thrown her down like rag doll? That had gone at her until she went limp?

He got up and ran to the washroom. He hated how his Vulcan feeling of guilt combined with the human biological response to it. He leaned over the toilet and vomited.

Hoping she hadn't heard, he turned on the shower. He got in, hoping to rid himself of the smell. He was sticky, too, and covered in fluids. He stayed in until he was completely clean.

"You showered," Nyota said when he came back to bed, but it wasn't accusatory. It was almost as if she was trying to say that if this was the weirdest thing he was going to do, she could live with it.

He wrapped his arms around her and wanted to tell her that he was sorry. That he had refused her. That he had lost control.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

Instead, he went into the bathroom and vomited again.


End file.
